The Fletcher Memorial Home

Take all your overgrown infants away, somewhere
 And build them a home, a little place of their own
 The Fletcher Memorial Home
 For incurable tyrants and kings
 They can appear to themselves every day
 On closed circuit TV
 To make sure they're still real
 It's the only connection they feel
 Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, Reagan and Haig
 Mr. Began and friend, Mrs.Thatcher, the Paisly
 (Hello Maggie!)
 Mr. Brezhnev and party, the Ghost of McCarthy
 And the memories have mixed and now adding color
 (Who's the bald chap?)
 A group of anonymous Latin American meat packing glitterati
 Did they expect us to treat them with any respect?
 They can polish their medals and sharpen their smiles
 And please themselves by playing games for a while
 Boom boom, bang bang, lie down you're dead
 Safe in the permanent gaze of a cold glass eye
 With their favorite toy
 There'll be good girls 'n' boys
 In the Fletcher Memorial Home for colonial
 Wasters of life and limb
 Is everyone in?
 Are you having English time?
 (Big guy)
 Now final solution can be applied